


The Last Dragon and the She-Wolf

by MaryEvH



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryEvH/pseuds/MaryEvH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To the victors go the spoils of war, and the writing of history." But what if they got history wrong? What if young Lyanna Stark hadn't been kidnapped at all? R + L = J, rated T for now but may go up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

 

As the red sun slowly crept over the horizon, a flood of crimson rays spilled over the ancient castle walls of Winterfell, filling its frostbitten halls with warm auras of bloodstained sunlight. The morning was still cold and fresh as softer rays of pink and yellow joined the red. Gradually, birds began singing to greet the new day, and the household staff gradually rose and started their duties. Fires were lit, breakfast was cooked, and horses were groomed and saddled for their riders.

The sun was above ground and steadily rising, when the loud, coarse cawing of a messenger raven on the East Gate suddenly breached the early morning routine. The traffic of servants was jarred by the loud sound, until Maester Luwin plucked the raven down from the top of the gate, carrying it on his hand to find his master. He found the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North in the stables, brushing down his favorite stallion after his usual morning ride, and talking with Ser Rodrik. “Yes, we sent a letter to Steffon Baratheon three weeks ago concerning that, and he’s finally answered,” the lord was saying. “He’s agreed that Robert would be a suitable match for Lya. I plan to discuss it with her as soon as the arrangement is finalized. She may not take it well, but it’s necessary.”

“This will be a good thing,” Ser Rodrik agreed in his rough voice, nodding sharply. “House Baratheon may be a young House, but they’ve already taken control the Storm Lands. Binding them to the North by blood is a wise move, my lord. Even if the Lady Lyanna may disagree for a time.”

“Lord Stark!” the maester called out as he crossed the ever-bustling courtyard. “A raven from King’s Landing for you, my lord.”

_“Landing,”_ the animal squawked in its horrid voice. _“Landing.”_

“With your leave, sir, I’ll be on my way to the armory,” Ser Rodrik said with a bow.

Lord Rickard chuckled at the raven as he untied the message from its leg. “Very good, Ser Rodrik,” he called after the castellan. But his smile quickly faded as he looked again at the scroll. “It’s stamped with the royal seal,” he said to the Maester, his voice suddenly laden with concern. “What would the King want with Winterfell?”

“I don’t know, my lord. Best to open it and find out,” Luwin answered him in a grave voice.

Rickard nodded, now wearing what his lady wife used to call his “lord’s face,” when she was still alive. “You’re right,” he said. “Come with me; we’ll discuss this in my solar.”

“As you say, my lord.”

The two men hurried through the courtyard, up the steps, and through the halls – with a brief stop at the rookery for Maester Luwin to see to the raven – before they came to Lord Rickard Stark’s solar. It was a large, airy room, with a writing desk in the center and a huge, carved chair behind. The solar was one of the few rooms in Winterfell that got full sunlight at all hours of the day from the large windows all around. Maester Luwin shut and locked the door behind them as Lord Rickard broke the seal, unrolled the parchment, and quickly read. “What does it say, my lord?” Maester Luwin asked nervously, tugging on his chain.

Lord Stark’s eyes skimmed the page, and he slowly set it down on the writing desk when he finished. “The Mad King rides for Winterfell,” he said solemnly. “With Queen Rhaella, Prince Rhaegar, and all the rest of them. They plan to stay for two months, and this letter is dated almost a month ago.” He let the page drop to his desk. “They must be nearly here.” His face fell into his hands for a brief moment, before he looked sadly at the man. “I fear what may come of this, Maester. If anything happens to displease the King, be it in my control or not, he’ll have all our heads on spikes outside the Red Keep.”

“Best to simply let it happen and make the best of it, my lord,” the maester assured him. “The whole realm knows of his…instability; surely the household staff will be aware of his temperaments and act accordingly. He craned his neck to look over his lord’s shoulder and skimmed the letter. “What brings the Mad King this far to the North, in any case? Winterfell has not been graced by a royal visit since Aegon the Dragonbane.”

Lord Rickard groaned under his breath. “He wishes to ensure that ‘the North (being the land between Greywater Watch and the Wall) is equipped to fight back any possible future invasion of White Walkers, wildlings, or any of the other terrors that lie north of the Wall. I will also pay a visit to Castle Black while resting at Winterfell,’” he read directly from the page. “How am I to host a madman under my roof for two months, Maester? Especially when that madman is the King, and I have to keep my whole household from doing anything to displease him?”

Maester Luwin looked at him with pity in his eyes. “As you said, he is the king, my lord,” he said gently. “We must simply do as we’re bid. For two months, Winterfell will be his.”

“Let us hope he does not hold Winterfell for any longer,” Lord Stark answered in a hard voice. “Bring me my children.”


	2. Rickard I

“The Mad King rides _here_?” Brandon Stark asked incredulously. “Surely you jest, Father.” All four of his children now stood before him in the solar. He only included Lyanna knowing that she would torment all of them for the Mad King’s whole visit had she been left out.

“I do _not,_ Brandon,” Lord Rickard said with all solemnity. “This letter came for me, stamped with the royal seal, not 30 minutes ago,” he said. He handed it to his eldest son, letting all four of his children read it in turn. When it reached Lyanna, the elder two – Brandon and Eddard – were already murmuring about its contents.

“But how can he possibly test our readiness for the Others?” she asked, frowning as she handed the letter off to Benjen, the youngest pup of his litter. “There’s no way to predict the manner in which they would attack us, if they exist to attack us at all.” Despite the reputation of her sex, and being only fifteen years of age, Lyanna was the sharpest of his children, and certainly the least naïve, he thought fondly. His sons too often let their heads be clouded by their emotions, especially Brandon.

“There’s a reason they call him the Mad King, sweet sister,” Eddard murmured quietly. His second son was more soft-spoken than his firstborn, but no less honorable or brave than his siblings, and very close to his sister. “The word in the capitol is that all sense left him twenty years ago.”

“And that is all the more reason for us to tread _extremely_ lightly when he arrives,” Lord Rickard said sternly, but not overly so as they turned back from their conversations to face him. “For the next two months, Winterfell does not belong to us. As uncomfortable or as unfair as it may be, we will be reduced to visitors in our own home.” Brandon visibly bristled at his father’s words, trying to contain himself, but said nothing. Benjen muttered, “Gods be good, I’ll be gone to the Wall before they leave.”

“Even there, you will not be safe from them, I fear,” his lord father said dryly. “King Aerys plans to take a small entourage to Castle Black to inspect the defenses on the Wall as part of his stay here.”

“Seven hells,” the 13-year-old swore under his breath.

“Watch your language.”

“Is Winterfell equipped to hold all the men His Grace claims to be bringing?” Lyanna asked skeptically, taking the letter back from Benjen. “He writes here that his company will consist of all seven knights of the Kingsguard, 50 of the King’s Landing City Watch, and 100 of the guard from Dragonstone. That’s 157 men alone. Add in the Queen’s maids, and any of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia’s attendants, if she is able to make the journey, and that puts us well over capacity, unless we decide to send our own staff away.”

“They may have to share quarters with some of our own household staff and masters-at-arms, if that is acceptable to His Grace,” her father replied a little icily, taking the letter back from her. He sighed heavily, letting his head fall into his hands. Suddenly, his “lord’s face” fell away, and he was just Father again. “What am I to do, children?” he asked quietly, tiredly. “I’ll be keeping a madman under my roof for two months, in very close proximity to all of you.”

Lyanna stepped forward to her father’s writing desk and placed one delicate hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about us, Father,” she said gently. “We’ll be able to take care of ourselves just fine. I might be better than the boys, but we’re all pretty handy in combat, if it comes to that,” she grinned. Ned rolled his eyes, but Lord Rickard could tell he was smiling. Brandon bristled and opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Benjen quickly leaned past their middle brother and elbowed him in the side to shut him up. Lord Stark loved all of his children, but sometimes they acted far younger than they were.

“You are sweet to worry for me, my Lya,” he murmured to his daughter as he kissed her forehead. “But you’ve always been a sweet girl. Don’t fret, my love; I’ll be alright.”

“As you say, Father,” she murmured.

“Alright, go back to your lessons now, and give my apologies to Maester Luwin for your tardiness,” he said with a wave of his hand. “He will know the reason.”

Eddard, Lyanna, and Benjen all nodded and exited the solar when prompted, but Brandon stayed behind, watching for his younger siblings to leave. “We should put the Mad King and his whole retinue to the sword the moment he arrives,” he said hotly. “In fact, they shouldn’t come here at all.”

“Are _you_ the one who’s gone completely mad, Brandon?” his father answered angrily, standing up behind the desk. _The Wild Wolf, they call this one, and not without reason._ “Unless you want all our heads on spikes in King’s Landing, you’ll hold your tongue and do as I tell you. King Aerys is coming to Winterfell, and we are to house him for two months. I don’t like it either, but it is my duty as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to shelter the King when he comes here.”

“You can’t honestly plan to submit Winterfell to the whim of a madman?” he fumed. “We are Northmen, Father. Or have you forgotten? In the old days, we used to rule ourselves, autonomous from that rat’s nest they call a capitol. The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks. And now, for the next two months, you snivel in fear as the King rides to your door.”

Rickard struck his son hard across the face, shocking both of them. “You speak too rashly, boy,” he growled. “Someday, Winterfell will be yours to inherit, but not until I’m cold in the crypts below our feet with the old Kings of Winter. I am still the lord here, and you are still my son. And you _will_ do as I tell you while this is still my home. Is that clear?”

Brandon clenched his fists and jaw, saying nothing and breathing hard. “Crystal, Father,” he almost snarled, attempting to storm out, but his father grabbed him by the shoulder before he could leave.

“Prove it to me when the Mad King arrives,” Lord Rickard answered firmly, before releasing him. “Now, to your lessons. And don’t tarry. Maester Luwin will be expecting you.”

 

“Now, who can tell me the information for this?” Maester Luwin asked, pointing to the Iron Islands on the map of Westeros. “Lord Benjen?”

“The Iron Islands. Seat: Castle Pyke. Lords: The Greyjoys. Sigil: A golden kraken on a black field. Words: ‘We Do Not Sow’,” he said.

Maester Luwin nodded in approval. “Very good, my lord. Lady Lyanna, Dorne,” he said, pointing accordingly. Lord Rickard stood at the back entrance of the room, watching his children wrap up their lessons for the day on the noble houses of Westeros.

“Seat: Sunspear. Lords: The Martells. Sigil: A red sun pierced by a golden spear. Words: ‘Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken’,” she recited from memory. “Dorne was the last of the Seven Kingdoms to swear fealty to the Iron Throne,” she added.

Now, Maester Luwin smiled. “Excellent, my lady. Lord Brandon, the East,” he pointed.

Brandon was clearly in a foul mood. “Seat: The Eyrie. Lords: The Arryns. Sigil: A white falcon flying into a crescent moon on a blue field. Words: ‘As High As Honor’,” he said, only a hint of anger entering his tone as he spoke.

“Very good,” the maester praised. “Lord Eddard, the West.”

“Seat: Casterly Rock. Lords: The Lannisters. Sigil: A golden lion on a red field. Words: ‘Hear Me Roar’,” his second son recited in his naturally quiet voice. _My Quiet Wolf,_ Lord Rickard thought.

Maester Luwin nodded again, still smiling. “Excellent job today, my lords and lady. You’re dismissed for combat practice.” Lyanna was clearly the most excited, as she always was, and Lord Rickard watched her hurry off. Chuckling to himself, he was about to turn and leave before he felt the maester’s hand on his shoulder.

“Is Brandon well?” he asked in concern. “He seemed…rather upset all through the lessons.” The maester was always one to choose his words carefully, especially to Lord Stark.

The man sighed, running a hand over his face. “Brandon wants me to put the Mad King and everyone he brings to the sword the moment they arrive at Winterfell. He doesn’t want them anywhere near the North at all.” They both knew Brandon to be a very hot-headed young man, always controlled by his emotions, especially the extremes.

Maester Luwin clucked his tongue. “He’ll cool down soon, my lord. I have no doubt of it. He has to, when the Mad King arrives.”

Lyanna was already scurrying back down the stairs towards the courtyard, her lady’s dress put aside in favor of a boiled leather jerkin, padded by a wolf pelt vest, leggings, and men’s shoes. Her long, dark tresses were tied back in a neat bun, but her huge, cheerful smile was as present as ever. She waved to her father and Maester Luwin as she jogged to the courtyard, picking out her wooden combat sword and her practice helm for the day, and walking up to Ser Rodrik.

He still remembered the first time he had allowed Lyanna to go to combat practice with her brothers. She was only nine years old at the time, and had been begging him for years to let her train with her brothers. When he finally relented, she so excited to go. He could still remember the look on Ser Rodrik’s face when he saw her dressed as a man, and stammered to Lord Stark that he had never trained a woman before. “You’ll start now,” he had replied firmly, and all argument about it had been silenced from that day on. Soon, she was better in sparring and combat than all three of her brothers. Ser Rodrik had never gone easier on her than her brothers, and she had flourished under his instruction.

“You know she can’t keep training when His Grace arrives,” Maester Luwin advised. “He’ll never stand for a woman being trained in combat.”

Lord Stark’s face clouded for a moment, but he heard Lyanna laughing as she struck a victory against Brandon, and he changed his mind. “Let the Mad King see how we raise our daughters in the North. She’s stronger than all of her brothers, besides. Who knows? If we catch His Grace in a good mood, he might be impressed.”

Maester Luwin shrugged and obediently nodded his head. “As you say, my lord. Shall I start preparing Winterfell for their arrival?”

“Yes,” Lord Rickard responded. “Do what you must.”


	3. Lyanna I

Lyanna awoke at dawn the next morning, the day the Mad King was due to arrive. She took a moment to lie in her bed, breathing steadily and enjoying the warmth and comfort of her room, before stepping out of bed and calling her handmaid, Annabelle. “I’ll need a fresh bath this morning, and my best green gown and cloak,” she said.

“Yes, my lady.”

She pondered the royal arrival as her three handmaids drew her bath in the large, copper tub. She sat and soaked, wondering – how Winterfell could possibly hold all of the retinue the King was bringing, what the Queen and Prince would be like, if the Prince would bring his lady wife and daughter – while the maids scrubbed every inch of her clean, pouring hot water over her head repeatedly to wash the soap away. Soon, she stepped out and they toweled her dry. Annabelle brushed her hair until it shone, pulling it into a braided bun, while Beth and Gwynn laced her into the chosen dress over soft smallclothes.

“Do you know much about the royal family, my lady?” Annabelle asked Lyanna curiously as she braided her mistress’ hair.

“A little,” she said. “Prince Rhaegar is married to Princess Elia of Dorne, and she’s expecting their second child, which I understand is to be a boy. They have a little girl already. All of the nobles that have met him say he’s a much kinder, gentler man than his father, King Aerys.”

“Is it true that the king married his sister?” Gwynn asked incredulously.

Lyanna nodded. “House Targaryen was marrying brother to sister even before they crossed the Narrow Sea from Valyria. They claim they do it for the purity of their bloodline. The Faith of the Seven overlooked their sin in exchange for their support when the Targaryens took the Iron Throne.” She paused. “But we mustn’t speak of such things while they’re here. My brothers tell me the Mad King has lost all sense.”

The maids shared a nervous look, and Lyanna glanced at each of them in turn. “Just keep your heads down, mind your duties, and none of the royals will have any reason to bother you,” she reassured them gently. “It’s only a couple of months, and then they’ll be gone.”

A sharp knock on the door ended their conversation. “Enter,” she called. Benjen opened the door, smiling at his elder sister. “You look gorgeous, Lya,” he said. “We’re assembling in the courtyard; the Targaryens will be here at any moment.”

The young Lady of Winterfell nodded, taking a deep breath as she rose from her seat. “Annabelle, Beth, Gwynn, you’re dismissed for the night. Do enjoy the festivities, but I can prepare for bed on my own.” She turned back to Benjen. “I’m ready to go, brother.”

With his ever-dashing smile, he offered her his arm as the three maids exited her chambers for the kitchens. Lyanna walked with him all the way down to the courtyard, where the rest of the family and household staff had already assembled. Her father and brothers smiled as they saw her come down with Benjen, and she took her place between him and Ned, who lightly kissed her cheek in greeting. “You look beautiful, Lya, as always,” he murmured.

“Thank you, Ned,” she murmured back with a smile. She was very close to her older brother; her father once told her that when she was born, Ned wanted to be the first to hold her after the maester and their mother. He had been so happy to have a baby sister.

She was jerked out of her reverie by loud shouts of “They’re coming! Open the gates!” Men hurried around the courtyard, and soon, the main gates of Winterfell lazily crept open with a deafening whine.

And the Targaryen retinue entered.

The only word Lya could think to use to describe them was _Magnificent_. A huge litter, held up by eight knights, carried the Queen and her maids, while the men and guards rode their horses alongside. Armor covered every man, and swords hung from every waist. She could see King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar riding on either side of the litter, flanked by the Kingsguard. The Prince’s huge gray warhorse looked well lathered; the King must have driven them hard.

At her father’s example, everyone knelt in unison, bowing their heads to the royals. Lyanna heard armor clanking softly as the men dismounted and the litter was put down. Footsteps, two sets, she wagered by the volume of the armor’s movement, but she didn’t dare raise her head until the King gave his word.

“Rise,” it came. His voice was surprisingly quiet, like a whispery breath of wind. She waited for her father and elder brothers, before she stood upright again, Benjen following after her. Her father was face to face with King Aerys, Prince Rhaegar was standing behind his father, and Queen Rhaella had just exited her litter, trailed by her maids.

“Your Grace,” Lord Rickard bowed his head. Lyanna glanced at the Prince, but immediately looked back down at her shoes when his piercing lilac eyes met hers. “Welcome to Winterfell. It is the honor of House Stark to share our roof, meat, and mead with you and your host.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” he replied as his wife joined him by his side. “I trust I will find the North’s defenses satisfactory against the possibility of an invasion of Others.”

“Yes, Your Grace. If it please Your Grace, my household staff can show you to your quarters. You must be exhausted from your ride.”

The King nodded. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

As the staff bustled about to get the huge host settled in, she saw the Queen murmur something in her father’s ear. “What is it, Father?” she whispered when she approached him, watching the Queen as she walked away after the King.

“She told me we’re lucky he’s lucid today, and not to expect it tomorrow.” He sighed heavily. “This is going to be an interesting two months, my love. Keep your thoughts and actions guarded as much as you can while they’re here.”

Lyanna nodded. “Will I still train with the boys?” she asked hopefully. She had been almost certain that he would bar her from training for the month that the royal family was there; they couldn’t do anything to risk displeasing the Mad King.

However, Lord Rickard chuckled. “I couldn’t take that away from you, even though Maester Luwin advised me to. Yes, His Grace will see that we train our daughters alongside our sons for combat against the Others here in the North.”

Her face was ecstatic as she threw her arms around her father. “Thank you so much, Father.”

He smiled to himself as he hugged his daughter. “I love you, my sweet girl.”

“I love you too, Father.”

 

Lyanna brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, which Gwynn caught and tucked back into her bun. Tonight was the first feast for the arrival of the royal retinue. The whole household and all the Starks’ vassal houses would be in attendance. The young Lady Stark herself wore a simple gown of light gray covered in silver Myrish lace that hugged her top half and flared out into a huge skirt just above her hips. There would be dancing, no doubt, and she would have to take a turn with each of her brothers, her father, and possibly some of the Targaryen knights.

“Are you ready, my lady?” Gwynn asked.

She smiled nervously. “I suppose I am, Gwynn.”

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of her eldest brother, come to escort her down to the Great Hall. “You look beautiful, Lya,” Brandon smiled as he beheld his younger sister. He was dressed in his finest doublet and breeches, the direwolf of House Stark racing proudly across his huge chest. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Brandon chuckled and offered her his arm. Together, they made their way to the banquet hall. The drink was already flowing heavily; Lyanna could hear the Greatjon Umber’s bellowing several yards from the Great Hall. “Sometimes I wonder if he can go to a feast without drinking,” she murmured to her brother.

“Who, the Greatjon? Telling him not to drink at a feast is like telling him not to breathe for a few hours,” Brandon laughed as they approached the door, meeting their father outside. Lord Rickard acknowledged his approaching children with a nod. “Brandon. Lya, you look lovely.”

She blushed. “Thank you, Father.”

The Lord of Winterfell allowed a small smile. “Now, when we go in, King Aerys and Queen Rhaella will be seated in the middle. I’ll be next to the King, and Brandon, you’ll be on my left, to the right of Ned. Benjen will be on Ned’s other side. Lya, you’ll sit between the Queen and Prince Rhaegar.”

She gaped and grew pale. She would be on the other side of the table from all of her family, stuck between two Targaryens…for the whole feast? “Wh-what?”

“Don’t fret, my dear,” her father assured her. “The Queen shares none of her husband’s violent temperament, from what I’ve seen and heard. And Prince Rhaegar will certainly wish only to regale you with stories of life in King’s Landing. You have nothing to fear.” Lya kept her eyes down and nodded weakly. Her father lifted her chin to look at her. “Come now, you’ll be fine. Where’s my spirited daughter?”

She smiled nervously, and Lord Rickard nodded in approval, his own smile growing. “Just be the strong woman of the North I know you are, my dear. They’ll be impressed with you, I have no doubt of it.” Lya couldn’t help but smile proudly at her father’s words. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, and the doors opened.

The decorations were immense. Lyanna’s jaw almost dropped; she had never seen the Great Hall so decorated before. Huge Stark and Targaryen banners hung behind the dais, while all around the walls were banners of the Houses sworn to the Starks – Karstark, Umber, Flint, Mormont, Hornwood, Cerwyn, Reed, Manderly, Glover, Tallhart, and Bolton were all represented. Tables were all over the room, except for the middle portion, where she assumed the dancing would take place later on. Taking a deep breath, Lyanna and Brandon continued forward, until she had arrived at her seat between the Queen and the Prince. They had the same long, silvery-blonde hair and purple eyes, the Prince’s being much darker. But on a closer look, they both looked kinder than the King.

Her brother pulled out her chair before walking over to his spot on the dais As the King and her father sat, everyone else moved to sit in perfect unison. Now, the feast would start.

“I-is this your first time in the North, Your Grace?” she asked the Queen shyly as the first course was dished, struggling to keep a slight stammer out of her voice.

“Yes,” Queen Rhaella answered, her voice naturally very quiet, and somewhat low for a woman. It reminded Lyanna a little of her brother Ned. “Lovely country. Much quieter than King’s Landing, to be sure,” she added with a chuckle.

The Prince interjected from her other side, taking Lyanna by surprise. “I think everywhere in the realm is quieter than King’s Landing, Mother,” he chuckled. His voice was deep and rich, almost musical. It wasn’t the kind of voice Lyanna had expected a dragon to have. “It is a city of half a million, after all.”

“Point taken, Rhaegar,” she chuckled. “I suppose you’ve grown accustomed to life here, Lady Stark?”

 _The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms just called me Lady Stark. Gods be good._ Lyanna swallowed hard and nodded, trying to smile. “Yes, Your Grace. Though I hear it takes some getting used to?” she asked, taking a small bite of her food.

The Queen smiled again. “Only a little. I rather like it here; it’s much more bearable than the sweaty summers in King’s Landing.” She seemed rather kind, and very easy to talk to. Lyanna liked her already. A tension she hadn’t even noticed eased out of her shoulders. Maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The Queen and the Prince carried most of the conversation for the rest of the night, but Queen Rhaella proved to be a kind soul, and would often ask Lyanna’s opinion of the things they discussed. It was hours later before the conversation lulled and the royals spoke to their other neighbors, which left Lyanna time to think.

All through the night, her Targaryen neighbors had been so different than she expected. The only tales she’d ever heard were of the Mad King, and his heinous ideas of justice in the Seven Kingdoms. The Queen had never been mentioned once at Winterfell before they learned she was arriving with the King, and Prince Rhaegar was the source of much speculation concerning his mental state. To Lyanna, however, he seemed to be just as mentally sound as anyone she knew.

Soon, it was time for dancing. The staff quickly cleared a section of floor as the musicians in the gallery took up their pipes and fiddles. Lyanna watched with interest as people paired up all around the room. She always loved to watch people dancing, it was like they were in a different world altogether.

A tap on her shoulder brought her back to the real world, and she turned to see Ned standing behind her. “May I have this dance?” he asked, a playful light dancing in his eyes. He wasn’t usually once for dancing, but he knew she loved it.

She chuckled and grinned. “Certainly, brother,” she replied, kissing his cheek and letting him lead her to the floor. The musicians struck up a lighthearted jig, and soon, Ned and Lya were off.

“I know Father had you stuck…between the Queen and Prince all through dinner,” he said in a low voice, pausing to spin her around once. “Are you alright?”

“Alright enough,” she said with a small nod. “The Queen is quite a kind woman. I like her.”

Ned nodded. “That is a comfort, to be certain. And Prince Rhaegar?”

The sound of a man clearing his throat interrupted her as she was about to answer. “May I cut in?” an all-too-familiar voice asked. Lyanna’s stomach dropped. Of all the moments for Prince Rhaegar to cut into her dance with her brother, he had to choose now.

Ned smirked. “By all means.” Prince Rhaegar’s smile had a fixed quality to it, as though it had been sewn onto his face as he bowed to her brother. Lyanna quickly dipped her eyes as his cold hand enfolded her own, his right hand resting just below her shoulder blade. Lyanna racked her mind for something to say, but came up empty. She had no idea what to say to him, especially since he didn’t look particularly happy to be dancing with her. “I, uh…I hope your stay at Winterfell has been pleasant so far, Your Grace,” she stammered.

Rhaegar looked at her with a very neutral expression, but the closeness of their bodies made it seem very intimate to Lyanna. “It’s certainly different than I’d imagined,” he answered eventually, in a very diplomatic tone. It seemed like a carefully constructed answer to her. “Is that good or bad?” she asked, foregoing a more polite and appropriate reply.

A smile – clearly real this time – twitched at the corner of the Prince’s thin mouth when she responded. “I haven’t quite decided, truthfully. But it seems to be a good thing so far.” He spun her around once, catching her as she came back. She glanced around the room for one of her brothers, or perhaps her father. “Are you alright, my lady?” Rhaegar asked with a slight smirk. “You look a little distressed.”

She was jarred by his sudden, pointed question. “Distressed? Not at all,” she replied, doing her best to appear more collected than she felt. In truth, she was a little nervous, but she could hardly let the prince know this.

Thankfully, the song came to an end. Rhaegar released her and took a bow as she curtseyed. “Oh, and by the way, you look lovely.”

A furious blush rose to her cheeks. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, doing her best to smile as he walked away. She looked down as she hurried to the other side of the room, taking a deep breath. What on earth was going on with her?


End file.
